Chapter 23
"There but for the grace of God"
The following morning a column of vehicles that stretched for over two miles left through one of the gates at Fort London. At the head of the column was Anderson’s Discovery driven by Tom, his lifelong friend and comrade in arms. In the rear, sat Anderson and Spider who sandwiched the tiny figure of Hope between them. In the rear section sat Andrew, his wrists wearing heavy cuffs that were looped through one of the seat belt anchors. In the passenger seat sat Pump, his comms man, who got his name from his choice of weapon, an 870 Magnum pump action shotgun that rested at the side of his seat. The column, consisting of over three hundred vehicles, took just under an hour to pass through the gate. All the while the troops who were remaining to keep order at the Fort kept up a constant barrage of gun fire to keep back the WDs who were attracted by the noise created and sought a way in through the open gates. More worrying were the casualties on the inside of the Fort, the Pure who had tried to clamber onto the moving vehicles and were shot by the troops amongst the column and the ones guarding the gate. As the last vehicle rumbled through and the gate secured, Steve Knight surveyed the corpses with a sinking heart. The Sanctuary that had been home to so many was in chaos, the lucky ten thousand in the column would be boarding the American cruise ship the following day heading for the safe haven in the USA while the remaining populace had to wait their turn while keeping an eye northwards for the crazed Fort Warwick leader who they knew would come. Out of control mobs were roaming the Fort calling for action against Knight and Anderson, screaming at the injustice of the selection process that had left them at the Fort in a queue that everyone knew the front of which they would never reach. The thin defensive line of troops left behind by Anderson, led by Pump, were under no illusion that they were not only keeping the Fort safe from the WDs and Mutants roaming the outer-lands but from many of the populace who were growing more hostile by the day, in fact by the hour. To date, there had been five mass exits by those who had decided they would stand a better chance in the outer-lands or joining Bruger, and each time, the SAS troops had struggled to keep the Fort boundaries intact as groups left leaving gates open allowing the walking dead to stream in. There were so many factions, each with their own agenda, each, without knowing it, spinning towards a conclusion that none could imagine in their worst nightmare, none.
#
"Speak," ordered Bruger.
The man he had sent ahead to the Fort at Glasgow and had returned minutes before, following a reconnaissance foray, spoke quickly. "There are less than a hundred thousand Pure Mr Bruger, they...they have around forty troops roaming the boundaries but they ain’t too alert Sir. Seems like WDs are thin throughout Scotland so foraging groups don't have too much trouble gathering food, etc. They got some open grounds throughout the compound that have been turned over to crops and they have a crude refining station for fuel."
Bruger looked across at the encampment from his slightly raised position on the A803 that formed the western boundary of the compound containing the areas of Springburn and Balornock, and smiled. "Vanquish begins." Ten minutes later, the Pure within looked out on a sight that brought thousands to the four metre boundary wall looking out onto an area of open parkland, the fear rippled through them as they looked out at an army that numbered over four hundred. Half of them were a rag tag of men in a mixture of army fatigues, levis and leather jackets, each wore a red head scarf. It would be the only thing that would protect them as the Mutant army was set loose, these were Bruger’s regular troops, each carried a weapon, some several but the other half were the ones that instilled the real terror. These were Bruger’s Mutants, two hundred and twenty creatures, split into four squads, side by side in perfect lines, each dressed in camouflage trousers, each group of 55 wearing different colour vests and highly polished Highlander Ranger assault boots but there was something that each of the watchers in Fort Glasgow noticed and could not comprehend. They carried no weapons as the other group did, no guns, knives or axes, they simply stood, backs straight, staring ahead at Fort Glasgow.
"What is your business here?" came a tinny voice that had clearly come through a loud hailer from within the Fort.
"Set up the mortars," snapped Bruger, "and bring up the Beast."
Bruger’s regulars were a scrappy looking crew but they moved with military precision to set up ten type 94 90 mm Infantry Mortars that had an effective range of just over four thousand metres.
"You are making a mistake friend. I ask you again, what is your business?"
"Here’s your answer," whispered Bruger. "Send in the mortars and open up that gate with the bulldog.”
There followed five minutes of relentless fire, the whistling from the mortars overlapping as wave after wave was sent into the Fort, the boom of the 63mm cannon on the Beast punctuating the wall of sound from the ten Japanese mortars, its shells splintering the massive wooden doors leaving the Fort wide open. The range was only 1,500 metres so the mortar shells were able to pepper deep into the stronghold. The whistling rain of shells decimated buildings, cars and running, screaming groups of Pure and all the while the response from the guards on the walls was sporadic and off target.
"Slow trot," ordered Bruger to his regulars. “Fire at will."
Two hundred men swept forward, their blood lust screams a chilling undertone to the cacophony of sound as they peppered the walls with shells.
Bruger switched on his throat mic linked to his Mutant’s ear pieces. "On me, all troops forward." Bruger strode towards the stronghold, the beat of the troops’ boots behind him sending a shiver up his spine, this is what he had worked towards, this was the start of his crusade. His regulars had reached the shattered gate and were pouring into Fort Glasgow, the sound of gunfire was intoxicating as Bruger reached the 500 metre mark and broke into a half trot, the pounding feet behind him became a deep rhythmic drum beat sending neat adrenaline into his blood stream. At 50 metres Bruger broke into a sprint that took him through the gates in 15 seconds. “All squads, eat," screamed the crazed man. "Eat."
Bruger watched as his creatures roared in and sped in all directions, chasing down the Pure of Glasgow who were not wearing a red head scarf, this had been their programming. The Fort Warwick leader watched in awe as his beasts went to work. White, green, yellow and blue squad ran down the Pure of the Fort, the lucky ones who happened to be wearing red were cut down by his regular troops. Bruger would let the carnage continue for the next hour, after that the Fort would be his, all fight would have gone from the populace, project ‘Vanquish’ had begun.
"Blade, you need to come here," shouted the ship’s communications man from the upper deck.
"What I need," hissed the unhappy enforcer to himself, "is to get off of this tub.” Blade had tried to take an interest in the ship’s preparations but his mind kept wandering to the battle he knew would be taking place in Glasgow. He was a warrior, it’s what he did and to be swept aside by Bruger after so many years of loyal duty ate into him. The crumbs of responsibility the Fort Warwick leader had given him over the previous months with gathering Pure flesh for his Mutant army, had been a humiliating demotion. Now he was babysitting his Destroyer, another slap in the face. "This better be good," he snapped as he entered the small but sophisticated comms room.
The excited Comms man turned from his seat. “I finally managed to reconnect with a military satellite Blade and a couple of minutes ago I picked up a series of transmissions.”
"And that would interest me for what reason?” rebounded Blade, his disinterest clear.
The comms man hit a button. "This reason."
A slightly tinny, but perfectly clear American voice filled the small room.
"Weather permitting Mr President, we shall be in position off the British coast south of Southampton day after tomorrow at 0900 hours.”
"That’s great news Captain Argent, I will let the British know your progress.”
Blade’s interest level went up a
notch.
"Can you confirm how many passengers we will be extraditing Sir?”
"I will be able to confirm that a little later Captain, but as we discussed at your departure, it will be somewhere in the region of ten thousand. Once you are in sight of the port of Southampton you will be able to make direct contact with your onshore representative.”
"Who will that be Mr President?”
"Guy by the name of Craig Anderson, he is also the one caring for the child, Hope."
"Holy Shit!" gasped Blade.
"Let’s hope she has the answers to this curse, Mr President."
"The sooner we get her here the better Captain. When do you intend to sail?”
"Twenty four hours later, Sir."
"We'll be waiting, God speed Captain.”
The comms room fell silent. "Interesting enough Blade?” asked the comms man.
Blade didn't answer, not hearing the man as his mind somersaulted through the ramifications. A ship big enough to carry ten thousand people had to be something like a cruise ship, this was a game changer, this was an opportunity. They would need to march south as soon as possible. If they didn't, Anderson and the child would be escaping to the USA, Bruger would never accept that. Ten thousand people gathering at Southampton presented a huge opportunity to test out Bruger’s Mutants and for the crazed man to pull the thorn that was Anderson. Blade was a warrior, he was thirsty for the rush that only battle could provide and would not miss out on the coming slaughter. First however he had to give the news to Bruger, and he had every intention of delivering it personally.
#
Spider fixed the cross hairs of the telescope sight onto the man at the wall who was pouring, what he assumed was petrol, over the sturdy wooden gate that kept the community safe from the monsters who wandered the outer-lands. From the distance where he lay he could not hear what encouragement the baying crowd of around a hundred were giving the man but the angry faces and waving arms told of a rage that was building ever since the column of ten thousand left just hours earlier. The bolt action rifle kicked and a second later the man at the gate's head snapped back, a fine mist of blood and brain matter sprayed behind him, mixing with the petrol on the gate. The crowd scurried away, ducking as they ran but Spider knew they would be back. The pressure inside Fort London was building and he and his band of brothers had no real prospect of keeping a lid on it. Craig had assured him that the designated drivers would return to FL the following evening with the convoy ready for the second designated group of ten thousand to leave in approximately two weeks’ time, heading for the States and safety. In truth, Spider knew that it would never happen, he and his troops were now shooting more Pure than Tainted and it was only a matter of days, possibly hours, before there was a major breach and the Fort would be overrun. He and his troops knew it, Steve Knight knew it and he suspected Craig knew it. It was just a question of whether it would be the Tainted or Bruger who finally drove in the final nail. Spider slipped another shell into his rifle’s chamber, another crowd was developing.
#
Bryan cast one last loving gaze over the Apache he and Hog had spent hundreds of hours, much to Saphire’s disgust, bringing up to battle ready condition. Now it would never be flown as the Zombie Chapter prepared to ship out to Southampton to join the ten thousand. Swinging the huge metal doors closed he slipped the thick chain through the eyelets and opened the heavy Gauge padlock ready to seal the building.
"Remember you doing that with your motorcycle shop," commented Hog, coming up behind him, the long row of motorcycles lined up in front of the attack craft caused his heart to ache. He had suggested to Saphire taking at least one with him to America but she had warned him there would not be room so he had promised her he would leave them as there would be no room aboard a tightly packed ship. The one he had slipped into the back of his van would, he knew, cause Saphire to blow her pretty top but he intended to ride it one more time before he boarded the cruise ship with Saphire on the back, screaming with that intoxicating mix of fear and enjoyment.
Bryan snorted a laugh as he snapped the lock closed. "Stupid I know but......just can't bear the thought of leaving it open for those creatures to swarm all over these machines."
Hog followed Bryan’s gaze to the fence where a swaying crowd of WDs pressed relentlessly up against it, unable to comprehend that they could not get through. "They were all thinking humans at one time Bryan, brothers, sisters, and fathers.”
"There but for the grace of God," sighed Bryan.
Hog nodded. "You think we're doing the right thing Bryan?" frowned the Angel’s leader. "I mean...America?”
"Hog, Craig’s right," soothed his friend." That maniac Bruger is never gonna stop, never gonna give FL and us any peace until he has ground us into the dust or turned us into one of those monsters.”
"Come on you two," called Saphire from the lead van at the main gate. "We're all loaded, we have a ship to meet.”
Bryan looped the padlock through the links, turned the key and slipped it into his pocket. “Come on Hog, time to hit the road, this time tomorrow we will be on board ready to set sail to a new life, new beginning with all of the people who mean anything to us.”
As the two men walked without a backward glance they had no way of knowing that their vision for the future was going to suffer a few setbacks.
#
"We got another one Cap," came the worried voice of one of Anderson's team.
There had been three vehicle breakdowns in the last hour, this was the fourth. The rush in getting vehicles together to make the trip for the selected ten thousand meant that the merest checks were done, the criteria had been if the engine starts it was lined up with the rest.
"Which one?" asked Anderson nervously, up until now it had been cars that had broken down and it had been easy to squeeze the occupants into other vehicles but if a coach broke down they would be in real trouble.
"It’s one of the coaches Cap, we got black smoke pouring out of the back of it."
"All transport come to a halt," ordered Anderson. "Get us back along the column Tom, and don't spare the tyres.” The long line of cars, jeeps, coaches and lorries came to an eventual halt as Tom swung the Land Rover around and sped back along the dual carriageway.
"There," pointed Tom, towards the billowing black cloud.
"Eyes right guys," warned Bull. "We got WDs closing at around fifty metres."
As the Land Rover skidded to a halt up wind from the cloud of oily smoke, Anderson threw open the passenger door and hit the ground running, reaching the coach door just ahead of Tom and Spider. "Everyone out, spread out along the line and push, squeeze and cram yourselves into any vehicle with an inch of space. Tom, get a couple of our guys and put some fire behind them.”
"On it," responded his second in command, barking out orders and screaming at the frightened Pure jamming the doors in their haste to get out.
"Forty five metres," came Bull’s voice from the back of the Land Rover where he had been instructed to stay to watch over Hope.
"Anyone with a weapon get out here now and form a protective line," snapped Anderson, eyeing the closing swarm of WDs.
Twenty men with a variety of weapons created a firebreak line in front of the frantic people dashing along the line of vehicles, shouting and banging on the doors to be let in. Some doors opened, some shouted they were full and to try somewhere else.
"Get those people stowed away," yelled Anderson, reaching into the Land Rover and grabbing his harness, holding a pair of lethal Kukris’s, better known as Gurkha Knives, and an MP5 machine gun holding one hundred 9mm bullets in its mag. Stepping into the defensive line he called to his men, "Ok move forward. Let’s give our people some extra time."
"Mutants," screamed the man to his right, opening up with a Micro Uzi. Tearing forward, a dozen Mutants sprinted past the slow moving WDs.
The line of men opened up their cartridges pouring into the swarm and missing all of the Mutants. Anderson r
an forward to meet the fastest moving one, waited till the snarling man, dressed in cream slacks and a well cut black jacket, was just feet away and opened up with a short burst from his MP3, punching a neat series of holes at waist level that sat the creature back onto his backside. As Anderson ran past him to meet the second Mutant, he pulled his Magnum free from his under arm holster and shot the Mutant through the temple, the hollow point leaving a clean hole on the way in and a crater on exit. Two of the other Mutants were brought down by his team, another was all but sliced in half by Bull who had placed his shotgun through the back window of the Land Rover as it came level.
"Watch your back Tom," yelled Anderson just in time. Tom turned with a second to spare as the screaming Mutant, a woman, leapt at him.
Tom could not get his Mp3 raised before the crazed woman smashed into him, sending them crashing over onto the ground. He gripped the snarling creature by the throat and struggled to hold her snapping blood covered teeth inches away from his face. “Some help would be good," yelled Tom, his eyes smarting from the woman’s rancid breath.
Anderson could not risk a shot so sprinted to the fallen pair, reaching over his left shoulder as he ran and pulled one of the Kukris from its sheaf. Gripping firmly the woman’s tangled mane of hair, he yanked her head up and brought the blade singing through the air, removing it with ease.
Tom reacted instantly throwing off the headless corpse ensuring none of the deadly blood fell near his mouth.
"We got more coming in from the other side of the dual carriageway Cap," came a frantic warning from Pump.
"Start engines," snapped Anderson into his throat mic that linked with all drivers. "I want those stragglers loaded in the next ten seconds, lay them on the bonnets, put ’em on the roof racks if you have to but get them on board."
Bravo Two Zombie (Book 3): The Final Solution Page 18